The Martial Arts Academy instructor always told his students, "I'm just an instructor, not your teacher, let alone your master."
It seemed as though he was drawing a line, or perhaps he was reminding himself.
But once he began teaching, those children would follow him for a full five years.
Could it really be that after five years, he didn't care at all?
Five years then another five, one batch after another… Sending off and welcoming in an endless cycle.
This instructor thought his heart had turned to stone, but when he saw a student from days gone by, now a member of the Yixin Sect, die tragically before his own eyes, the feeling was still overwhelming, as unbearable as the overturning of seas and rivers.
The torrential rain pelted his upturned face, droplets splashing and streaming down.
So drenched, it was hard to distinguish between rain and tears.
